


When Ice Meets Fire

by Glassique



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Suspense, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassique/pseuds/Glassique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss returns home from the 74th Hunger Games. Alone. How will Katniss cope? Does she meet the same fate as Finnick Odair? Who does she find comfort in (hinty hint: Haymiss!)? Will the Rebellion still take over the Capitol? It's so much more than angsty romance, hurt/comfort, or tragedy. WARNING: there will probably be triggers and explicit content later on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As Peeta and I slowly gathered our things to leave the cave, I tried to keep my mind focused. It finally feels like we have a shot at winning the games and I’m having a hard time denying myself wishful thinking about the future. 

We could go home. We could actually make it home. I could see Prim again and Peeta would get to prove his mother wrong, that District 12 would finally have more than one Victor. I can’t allow myself to get too excited though so I allow my doubts, my worries, and my fears to cloud that feeling.

What would I do as a Victor? No one leaves the games unscathed. Haymitch is example enough—he lives inside the bottle. 

My entire life has revolved around the obtainment of food. Once I receive my Victor’s winnings, the entire purpose of my life will be taken away. I guess I could always help Gale hunt and trade. That is if he even wants to speak to me again after putting on this little show with Peeta.

It’s hard to believe that Peeta truly loves me. One look into his eyes though and I cannot lie to myself. They’re filled with adoration and happiness. If I can see it, I know that all of Panem can. I hate that I’m always last to know these things. I hate even more that Peeta had to wait until we were given a death sentence to tell me he loves me. 

I wish that he didn’t profess to Caesar Flickerman his undying love for me. Now I have to pretend to return his affections. It isn’t fair. Haymitch shouldn’t have let Peeta do it. I guess it wouldn’t have made a difference. He still would have done anything possible to make sure the Careers didn’t target me, to make sure I would survive. 

Every move he has made in this game has been motivated by love, not survival instincts. I can feel bile rising up my throat. The boy with the bread has saved me over and over and the best I can do it lie to him. I’m so disgustingly selfish. Peeta deserves to win more than I do. Everything about him is innately good.

The elation I felt moments ago has all but dissipated. The guilt is already weighing me down. If Peeta found out I had used him to win he will hate me. He would have to. I already hate myself for doing this to him. Haymitch wanted me to go along with the act, I know, but he couldn’t have foreseen the Gamemakers allowing us both out. I think he honestly believed that this little embellishment would be inconsequential because he wasn’t betting on Peeta making it out alive. 

_But we will make it out_ , I silently promise myself. And with that I attempt to silence my guilt and my fears. I hand Peeta his knife, I take my bow, and we leave the comfort and security of the cave. We’re going to win. We’re going to come home. Both of us.

At Peeta’s insistence, we attempt to find breakfast before searching for Cato or Foxface. It’s decided that we should head in the direction of the Cornucopia to hunt that way we waste less of our morning walking around. 

Even though his leg is feeling much better, Peeta walks too loudly. It wouldn’t be a problem if he weren’t scaring away all of the game in the area. Trying to be polite I suggest we take our shoes off so that we’ll walk quieter. 

Peeta wears the most incredulous look on face like I’ve suggested we battle Cato in the nude. Now _that_ would be ridiculous. So I tell him that. He laughs, I laugh, and we move on.

I can’t believe that even with no shoes on this boy manages to scare away half of the forest. We probably walk a half a mile further before I finally spot a squirrel. It must be a very stupid squirrel. No matter, intelligence is not a requirement when it comes to sustenance. As I’m about to pierce it through the eyes with my arrow, Peeta comes stomping into the clearing, effectively scaring away our only chance of getting breakfast.

He’s finally gotten on my last nerve so I suggest that he forage while I hunt that way we can eat and get this over with. He just laughs. I’m sure I’m giving him a weird look because he backtracks and says, “Katniss, I know I’m being too loud. Sorry.” He chuckles again, further irritating me. “Peeta. I want to go home. The sooner we deal with today, the sooner we get there.” Now that I’ve wiped the smile off his face I can’t say I feel any better but I know we need to get this over with. “So go pick some berries. You know which ones are safe to eat, right?” He just smiles again, gives me a chaste kiss on the lips, and says, “Yes, sweetheart.” He’s good. He knew that one would piss me off. I smile like a lovesick puppy anyway, not even sure I had to fake it this time. 

Peeta heads back towards the river while I walk further into the forest after we work out a signal system with the mockingjays as I had done with Rue. As I’m beginning to detect animal movement again, I hear the resolute blast of the cannon. _Peeta_. My mind flies into panic mode. I forget the signaling system, screaming his name instead. _He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. We’re almost home. I can’t return home alone. I can’t._

I’m screaming and running back towards the river when I come upon his jacket, unmistakably filled with nightlock berries. I feel myself gasping for air. Everyone knows not to eat these particular berries because they’re deadly. How could Peeta be so stupid? Throwing my eyes wildly around the area I notice a small pair of feet lying on the ground behind a nearby bush. That must be Foxface. I guess she didn’t know better either. If she’s dead then that means Peeta is still alive.

Again I’m running and screaming through the forest because at this point I really don’t care if Cato finds me. As I’m approaching the cave I feel my feet catch something and I find my body propelling towards the ground. As I’m trying to get up a hand grasps my ankle. Just as I’m going to kick it off I realize I’ve fallen over a boy with beautiful golden hair and bright blue eyes. _Peeta._

“Did you eat the berries Peeta? Did you eat the nightlock?” The words are frantically falling out of my mouth. He nods yes, looking like he is in extreme pain. How is he still alive? I always thought the consumption of nightlock meant instant death. These must be a Capitol variety, specifically engineered for the games. Why let tributes die peacefully?

He’s suddenly wiping the tears I didn’t know I shed from my eyes. We both know he’s dying and there’s nothing Haymitch nor I can do about it. I lie next to Peeta and put my head on his chest. He doesn’t skip a beat, moving his fingers through my hair. I can feel his entire body to shake and his breathing becomes labored. He whispers, “You…owe me. Win. For District 12. For…me…For Prim.” I cry harder. I can’t go home without him and now he’s asking me to anyway. Not that we have a choice.

I look up at his face, trying to remember the brightness of his blue eyes. Memorize his face. I want to immortalize his soul in my memory. I never want to forget. It hurts to see his face stricken with this pain. I don’t want to remember the agony I know he must be feeling at the moment. So I do the only thing I can think of to take it away.

As I lean down to kiss him I say, “I love you Peeta.” The smile that spread across his face was worth the exaggeration. It’s not technically a lie since in this moment I do know that I love him. And I’m going to miss him even though I barely know him.

“I… love you too…Katniss.” We kiss. I want him to know how much his life mattered. I want him to feel ecstasy instead of pain. I really don’t want to pull away but I want to do him one last favor so I sing the Valley Song.

As I sing he holds me. We lie there on the ground savoring the last minutes of what was, what is, and what could have been. When I finish the song I hold his face in my hands and kiss him again. I can feel him leaving his body. He cries out in pain a few times before his lips finally stop moving against mine.

Then I finally hear the cannon. The end of Peeta’s life.

I didn’t want it to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I don’t want to leave him here. 

I just curl up against his body and sob. 

I will never see his smile again. I will never hear his laugh. I will never know what I did to make him fall in love with me. He will never know what it is like to be loved. He will never know what it’s like to feel needed. He will never know just how much he means—meant—to me. The worst part is that I didn’t really know until right now. And right now is way too late.

I hate the Capitol. If I hated them for Rue, I hate them even more for Peeta. Putting us here is cruel, but prolonging what could have been a painless death is even crueler. 

“I’m sorry, Peeta.” I whisper onto his chest. I wish he could hear me. I gather what’s left of my resolve to get out of this arena and stand up. I’m going to surround him in flowers like I did Rue. Peeta, the epitome of beauty and love and kindness, deserves at least that. 

Because I really want to piss the Capitol off, I sing The Hanging Tree as I drape beautiful wildflowers all around Peeta’s body. Haymitch will probably kill me for singing that, but then again I already feel dead so what does it matter? Of course I’m sure there will be punishment from the Capitol if I make it out alive but in this moment I don’t exactly care. My soul and all that is good died with Peeta today.

Before I step away I decide to leave Peeta’s eyes open. I want the people in the Hovercraft that pick him up to see what they did to him. To feel some sort of remorse. I kiss Peeta goodbye, noting that some of his warmth is finally starting to leave him. Then I turn to the cameras to kiss my fingers, holding them up like I did for Rue, like our district did for us, and never letting the smoldering hatred leave my eyes.

The Capitol will pay. It may not be now, it may not be in my lifetime, but someday, they will pay dearly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss heads to the Cornucopia to win the games for Peeta.

As I walk through the woods toward the Cornucopia, where Cato has surely been spending his time, I listen for the rumble of the hovercraft that picks up Peeta. I bit the inside of my cheek causing blood to pool into my mouth in an effort to stifle another round of crying. I’ve wasted too much time today. I need to kill Cato and get the fuck out of here.

Part of me wants to die. If I just lie down and let Cato kill me without a fight then I’d be denying the Capitol their fun. They’ve already had too much. I can’t let myself fail Peeta though. I won’t insult his memory, his dying wish, like that.

If—I guess since I’m determined to win I should say when—I manage to make it home, I’ll have to become a mentor. These Games have done nothing but succeed in making me hate the Capitol even more than I did prior to being reaped. No wonder Haymitch is the way he is. No wonder he drinks the way he does. I have to wonder if all of the Victors turn into Haymitch, just some are better at pretending for the cameras than others. I don’t want that for me. 

I don’t know how I’m going to go home though. I’ll never be the same. I became a piece of their games and I’ll continue to be a piece of their games. I’m a murderer. I murdered children. I have one more child to murder. How am I supposed to live with myself? This last thought forces me to shove the grief and pain into a dark crevice inside my mind. I can’t afford to think like this right now. If I’m going to make it home I need a plan, I need to keep my mind clear. I need to be aware.

Unfortunately all my self-pity has caused me to compromise my skills as a huntress. It only took a few minutes but within that time I missed the fact that the wildlife around me quieted, the animals and insects went into hiding.

It only takes half a second for me to come to this realization when I hear guttural snarls from behind me. My feet are moving before I even acknowledge that mutts of some sort are chasing me. At least my instincts haven’t completely failed me.

I’m running faster and faster towards the Cornucopia. I can almost see it reflecting off of the morning sunlight through the trees. I almost drop my bow when I hear someone to my distant left cry out. The Gamemakers must be pushing Cato and I to the Cornucopia. They need to have their finale. It must be nice to sit in the comfort of their control room, dictating our every move, even the manner of our deaths. 

I’m not sure which is worse, death by Cato or death by mutt. Either way it will be agonizing. Either way it will be death by Capitol.

I let the anger and hatred towards the Capitol fuel my adrenaline. Right now I don’t need hope, I just need determination and sheer luck in order to make it out of the goddamned arena alive. That’s what Haymitch said right? Stay alive.

I can do this.

The mutts are closing in behind me. I can feel their hot breaths against my back. There must be at least two if not more behind me. Holding my bow tighter and picking up my pace I try to weave between the trees in order to put some distance between the mutts and myself. 

Once I’m nearly into the clearing where the games began, I know what I must do. If I run faster than Cato, than the mutts, I can mount the Cornucopia. Hopefully the mutts can’t jump that high. Even if they can I’ll have an advantage being on higher ground. The only problem I can foresee, besides the obvious implications that I could be dead before I can follow out my plan, would be if I were to not have enough arrows or I miss too many shots. 

Lucky for me, I never miss.

I finally break out into the clearing, my feet pushing me as fast as I can go. As I scale the Cornucopia, I feel a sharp searing pain shoot from my ankle up through my leg. Fuck. I turn around to try to kick the mutt off of me with my other leg when I see its eyes. _Peeta’s_ eyes. The beautiful blue eyes I just said goodbye to not even an hour ago. I’m so stunned that I lose my chance to fight the Peeta mutt off of me, giving the other mutt a chance to catch up to us. 

I have to force myself to kick the Peeta mutt. I need to win. I need to get out of here. I try to tell myself that it isn’t him. That Peeta is dead. I can’t bear to look at the pain that registers the Peeta mutt’s eyes as I kick him—it—again.

The other mutt is trying to bite the bow out of my hands. At least it isn’t biting me. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that this mutt has Rue’s warm chocolate eyes. If I look at either of these mutts any longer I’m going to lose my mind. 

At some point during the fight my mind and my body separate from each other. It’s like I no longer exist. I’m watching the Games. Nothing can hurt me anymore.

I watch this feral girl in her blind rage scratch the eyeballs out of the mutt’s sockets. First the mutt with the bright blue eyes, then the mutt with the brown eyes. Blinded, the mutts are an easy kill for her. She kicks them away, scrambles atop the Cornucopia and shoots them dead in less than two seconds. I’m impressed.

Then she turns her gaze towards the boy who has just emerged from the woods followed by four mutts. He has bite marks down his arms and right left. The girl is cold, calculating. She watches him run across the clearing. He’s screaming. Surely he thinks he’s going to die. 

The mutts grab ahold of his right leg again and begin dragging him. He fights free but he can’t stand up. His thigh is gushing blood. That is a fatal wound. The girl sits and she watches. _I should put him out of his misery_. She laughs. Cold, cruel. The mutts tear his skin, he screams in agony. _Someone should stop this show. The Gamemakers need entertainment, they need a finale_.

I fight my mind to return to the surface. I’m screaming and crying so loud I can barely hear Cato’s cries for help. I try to jump down from the Cornucopia but I end up falling to the ground on my back. I hear something snap but I don’t feel any pain. I don’t know what it is, I don’t care. I need this to stop. _Now_.

Before I have a chance to jump to my feet, two of the mutts ripping Cato to shreds are now coming after me. Still lying on the ground I aim my arrow towards Cato. Now that there are only two mutts on him I have a clear shot for his head. As I watch my arrow pierce his temple, my eyes start to pull closed. I hear the faint boom of a cannon. 

Am I dead? I try to speak but I can’t. All I can think is, _thank goodness_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling productive this weekend so I'll try to hash out two more chapters before Monday comes. It nothing else there will be a third chapter up by Sunday night. Things aren't really going to pick up speed until Chapter Four but there will be some Katniss Haymitch interactions in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch POV
> 
> The span between the end of the games and the infirmary.

Every year. Every goddamned year I watch them die. It’s always awful. Sometimes it’s gruesome, others it’s just pitiful. But never has it hurt this bad to watch one of my tributes die. It probably doesn’t help that I’m more sober than I’ve ever been in the twenty-four years I’ve had to mentor.

The boy by far had an uneventful death. He ate poisonous berries for fuck’s sake. Of course the Capitol had to make even a simple death long and painful. At this point in my life I really shouldn’t be surprised by anything the Capitol does but the fact that one of the Gamemakers had taken time to consider such a small detail sickens me beyond belief. I swear if fucking Plutarch suggested this to Seneca Crane, I’ll knock him on his ass.

I need a goddamned drink.

No, I need to be here for the girl. _Katniss._ I told her to stay alive, didn’t I? I have to stay sober just long enough to get her out of the arena. I owe her that. Once she finds out about the sweet life of a Victor I’m sure she’ll hate me though. What do I care? I hate me too.

Watching that boy die was fucking awful. It reminded me of Maysilee. Another unnecessary death at the hands of the Capitol. Katniss nearly broke down. I thought for sure she was going to follow the boy’s example. I was already getting ready to break out the liquor when I heard the boy make her promise to win for him.

At that moment I knew she would win. Of course I didn’t want to admit it to myself because shit happens but I really did believe she would win. I could see the hatred for the Capitol in her eyes and I knew that would spur her on. Her and I are similar in that way. We seem to know who the real enemy is. I’d say it’s a Seam thing but I know it isn’t. Her and I just understand each other. 

She managed to surprise me when she told the boy she loved him though. I didn’t think she had it in her. I’d be impressed if it weren’t for the fact that he was dying. Even through his pain I could see the faintest hint of a smile spreading across his face. In a sick way I’m glad she lied and told him that. Instead of leaving the world in pain and agony, he could take a bit of happiness with him instead. 

Her singing the Valley Song fucking sent me over the edge. I could feel a hard lump forming in my throat as I watched the boy take his last breath. Her sobbing against his body brought me immeasurable pain. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ These two have—I guess had in his case—managed to get to me. Probably because they had a fighting chance. She still has a chance. 

Katniss spends too much time crying. It feels like it goes on for ages. Once she collects herself, she covers Peeta in flowers like she did with that little girl from Eleven. The sentiment is nice. The perfect touch of rebellion, but it doesn’t go too far. As with all good things, they must come to an end. And the girl seems to know how to fuck things up like it’s her goddamned job. 

I could fucking kill her for singing The Hanging Tree. I’m sure the Capitol has cut the transmission by now, sensing what she was about to do anyway, but that doesn’t mean Snow won’t crucify her any less for this. I’ve got to hand it to her; she knows how to ruffle a few feathers. This time though she went too far. She’s going to wish she could hang herself after what Snow is going to do to her. Maybe that’s her plan. I fucking hope not.

Because the Capitol cameras here in the Control Room are trained on my face trying to get a reaction piece for Peeta’s death “tribute”, I fight to keep my features neutral. These dumbass Capitolites will get bored and leave me alone eventually. I’m not much to look at and I’m no longer interested in being charming seeing as Katniss no longer has a need for sponsorship. 

I focus all of my attention on the screen in front of me. They do a few close-ups of Katniss as she quickly moves through the woods towards the Cornucopia. My blood runs cold when I get a glimpse of her Seam gray eyes; they are cold, hard, dead. She looks just like me. I shouldn’t care but I do. She doesn’t deserve this life. 

Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged her to win. If—when—she makes it out she is going to hate me. I’m just as cruel as the Capitol. This life is even less desirable than living the life of a starving Seam rat. At least you can die with some semblance of dignity back in Twelve. Now she’ll forever be a piece of the Capitol, a rather troublesome trophy. My throat feels dry. I need a drink. 

What is it about this girl, the “Girl on Fire”, that rattles me senseless? Perhaps she reminds me of myself when I was her age. No, Katniss is much more guarded with her emotions than I ever was back then. Well, except anger. She’s teeming with it. She also possesses an alarming rate of stupidity. What the fuck was she thinking singing The Hanging Tree? 

I’m so stuck on her stupidity that I fail to pay attention to District One’s screen. It isn’t until I hear Katniss’s labored breathing do I realize the Gamemakers’ final move. The boy from One has four mutts chasing him while Katniss only has two. I assume it’s because they want them injured but alive for the finale at the Cornucopia. 

I’m thankful that the Gamemakers have a close-up shot trained on her face as she barrels through the woods. Katniss’s expression may be unreadable to the audience but I can read every small twitch in her eyes and the subtle clenching of her jaw. She’s devising a plan. And I’m sure it’s a good one at that.

I have faith that my girl is going to win. Just looking at her cool and collected demeanor compared to One’s tells me that. You can see the pure terror on his face. He doesn’t possess the same amount of determination as Katniss.

All is going swimmingly, as can be expected during a showdown between two child murderers, until she jumps up onto the Cornucopia and one of the mutts grabs her ankle. Katniss yelps, clearly in pain, but that’s not the problem. As soon as she turns around her mask all but completely slips off of her face. Anguish, grief, and terror all flash across her face as she stares at this mutt.

I’m throwing a slew of profanity at her and the screen as I feel someone grip my shoulder. That’s my warning to shut up before I really say something I regret. Must be Chaff. He always knows when I’m about to insult our precious Capitol. Only this time I have something to lose if I fuck up and say the wrong thing.

It’s a good thing he stopped when he did because that’s the moment that the Gamemakers decide to switch frames to show the audience what Katniss sees. They’re goddamned monsters. Those are the boy’s eyes. It isn’t above them to do something like this but it doesn’t make me hate them any less. 

Coming to the realization that the rest of the Districts will see this too, sobers me even more than I thought possible. While this is a good thing for a potential rebellion, it just put Katniss even more at risk than she has already put herself. _Fuck._ She doesn’t deserve that. Chaff squeezes my shoulder again. I keep my eyes glued to the screen.

Somewhere between the time that they had Katniss on the screen and the mutts on the screen, something shifted inside her. When I see her eyes now, it’s like she’s not even there. She goes berserk. I’ve seen it happen with tributes before, but this is more disturbing. I quietly curse myself for getting sucked into the Capitol melodrama long enough to not pay proper attention to her. I owe her that.

She’s screaming and gouging out the mutts’ eyes. For a moment dread seeps into my long forgotten heart. Oh I have no doubt that she will win. With this attitude, the Capitol doctors assigned to treat her when they pick her up will be beaten within an inch of their life until they can subdue her. No, the dread I’m feeling has to do with her psychotic break. 

She’ll never be that little girl who volunteered to protect her sister. She’ll never be that little girl that blushed profusely when her fellow tribute professed his undying love for her. She’ll never be that little girl that delighted everyone with her presence in the Hob. To be honest, I don’t really think she ever was a little girl. But that doesn’t mean that the Capitol didn’t deprive her of that nonetheless. When she returns to me, she’s going to be “The Girl Who Was On Fire”, was being the keyword here. The Capitol sure as hell knows how to stomp all over the small flame she had been kindling. 

Hearing her cold, mirthless laugh as she watches the boy from One get torn to shreds snaps me out of my reverie, sending a shiver throughout my body. The Capitol ruined her. That’s what they do best. I feel a drink being shoved into my hands. Must be Chaff. I can’t look away from the screen.

It occurs to me now that I must be in some state. I went from shouting to complete and utter silence. Well, at least the cameras won’t be getting a reaction out of me. Fuck the Capitol. Fuck them for ruining something so beautiful. 

I’m still watching her eyes, looking for any sign of life, looking for a hint of the spark. I waited with abated breath. And then I see it. It’s just a flicker but I see life cross those silver orbs and I hold onto it. _Is this what it feels like to hope?_ I don’t get too much time to mull that over before I see her falling down from the Cornucopia.

The sound of her bones snapping sounds excruciating but she doesn’t even flinch. I peel my eyes from the screen to check her vitals. Increased heart beat. Everything else looks fine. Must be the adrenaline. Or the psychotic break. Who the hell knows. She’s alive, that’s all that matters.

Time slows down. I feel like I’m watching the Games in slow motion. A horror I never dreamt of experiencing. Katniss tries to get up but between the broken bones—ribs I think—and the two mutts towards her she is stuck lying on the ground. _This is it. That boy dies or she dies but those fucking Capitol monster mutts are going to gnaw on both of them until that happens._

Chaff squeezes my shoulder again. I remember I have the drink in my hand. I decide that this is the moment I need it most and I down the half of the bottle, never letting my eyes leave the screen. The mutts have almost reached Katniss when I see her draw her arrow. Before she aims, I already know what she plans to do. She shoots the boy in his temple, killing him nearly instantaneously. _That’s right sweetheart, fuck the Games. Fuck the Capitol._

She passes out on the ground, bow in hand, Maysilee’s pin clearly visible to the cameras. _That’s my girl._ I can’t bring myself to smile even if somewhere deep down I feel something akin to happiness that this girl make it out. I’ve handed her a life of isolation, unhappiness, and nightmares. There’s nothing to really smile about. 

Chaff pats my back. I think I hear a few mumbles of congratulations from other Victors. They always come out more like apologies. None of us like this life, but it’s the one we technically chose to live. Well, except for the fucking fruitcakes from the Career Districts, with a few exceptions from Four. Finally I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. 

I finish my drink and head to the infirmary. Best she sees my sourpuss face when she wakes up as opposed to a Capitol crony. As I near the elevator, Chaff stops me so that he can join me. I doubt he’s going to the infirmary but I don’t really feel like questioning it right now so I wait for him.

When we get in I press the button for the basement and Chaff sends me a questioning look. I know what he’s thinking. This goes above and beyond mentor behavior. We give them advice, get them sponsors, and then forget. Doesn’t matter if they made it out alive or not. I stare at him a moment.

“She’s probably the only one Twelve will ever have.” I say, hoping I don’t sound too defeated.

He pauses a moment. A smirk crosses his face before he forces it neutral. I already know what he’s thinking. “Ah…So this one is special then?”

I snort. “Yeah you could say that. She tried to stab me the first day we were on the train.” His eyebrows rise a few inches at this. I smirk.

“Well don’t surprise her with a kiss when she wakes up or you might end up with a needle in your neck.” Chaff can be a fucking asshole sometimes. 

The elevator reaches ground level but before he gets out I call out to him, “Ha. Yeah. She’ll probably do it anyway. I’m the asshole who turned her into a trophy, remember?” Recognition flashes across his features before the elevator doors close. He knows what I’m saying even though I can’t be explicit with how I say it. I made her into a piece of their Games. She should never forgive me for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100% unedited cut so if I've made any egregious mistakes, please message me or leave a comment about it and I'll update corrections later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> President Snow visits the infirmary.
> 
> Haymitch POV

When I reach the infirmary a few seconds later I almost jump back into the elevator. The doctors here have a video monitor in the Hovercraft that way they can monitor the newest Victor’s health and prepare necessary surgeries and procedures before they arrive.

 

Currently the video monitor shows Katniss screaming and thrashing around in a bed that they have tied her up in. She looks absolutely feral. I thought she was unconscious, I guess they gave her something to wake her up to see where she is in pain. Big mistake on their part.

 

If it weren’t for the look in her eyes and the pain that their lifelessness causes me, I’d probably laugh. She’s a handful; she’s proven that time and time again over the past few weeks. How the hell did they manage to overlook that? I pull my flask out of my coat pocket to take a drink until I notice the nurse at the desk giving me a nasty look.

 

Usually I’d drink it anyway, seeing as I don’t give a shit about anything, but I figure it’s probably best that Katniss sees me slightly buzzed rather than hopelessly drunk. Since she’s never going to forgive me anyway I don’t see how it could matter but it’s the least I can do. My usual drunken stupor can wait.

 

The bitchy nurse at the desk stares at me. I guess I’m everything she expected. They’re too used to the more beautiful Victors like Finnick Odair waltzing around the Capitol. Ah, well. I guess I could have a little fun irritating her while I’m waiting for Katniss to arrive.

 

Unfortunately for me Effie, looking like a strangled green and yellow puff ball, rushes into the infirmary. Oh great, this is not how I wanted this to go down. Of course if I had it my way the Games wouldn’t even exist, but that’s taking my thoughts in the wrong goddamned direction. I focus my attention back towards a gaping Effie. I guess she’s surprised I cared enough to be here.

 

“What?” I say to her allowing a hint of annoyance to seep into my voice.

 

She looks taken aback. “Nothing…I just…I didn’t want Katniss to be alone when she woke up.” She almost sounds like she cares when she forgets her stupid Capitol accent. I nod to her in silent agreement.

 

One of the other nurses shoves us into a waiting area so that we’re not blocking the desk area. I don’t know who else they think would be coming down here. President Snow?

 

My heart nearly stops. That is exactly who they’re expecting to arrive. Oh fuck. Oh shit. He didn’t do this to me. Snow didn’t even bother with a personal visit until after he killed everyone I loved. Is this what he did to Finnick? Johanna? They’re the youngest troublemakers of our group right now besides Katniss. I can feel anger bubbling up inside of me.

 

Effie gives me a questioning look. I must be having a hard time concealing my emotions. Sobriety is not for me.

 

Snow can’t seriously think Katniss would be a good escort. She’s not devastatingly attractive like the others. Sure she’s beautiful, but not in a Capitol sort of way. And she’s much more innocent. Sounds funny calling a fellow murderer innocent, but she is. Katniss isn’t like the others. That’s exactly the point though. She isn’t one of us yet. 

 

I try to pretend like I don’t know what Snow wants to do to her. All he wants to do is strip her of her rebellious nature. Maybe he’ll just threaten to rig the Reaping so that her sister is guaranteed to enter the arena. It’s cruel but it isn’t prostitution. That would strip her of her soul. I know it would because if I had a soul left, it would strip me of mine too.

 

Effie and I sit in the waiting room. We both jump up when we see the nurses rushing a hospital bed holding Katniss into the nearest room. I hear a bunch of yelling about how she’s lost so much blood she needs a blood transfusion immediately. Fucking Effie starts crying until I grab her shoulder and give her a look that says nothing short of _shut the fuck up_. I really don’t have the patience for her right now.

 

Snow will be here any minute. I can’t let him get to her. At least not yet. She needs to see someone she knows is on her side when she wakes up. She shouldn’t have to experience any more horrors today. The ones from the arena will last her a lifetime.

 

The only thing I can think about right now is just being in that room with Katniss. I try to slip into her room unnoticed, hoping that the nurses are all too busy readying her for the transfusion to notice me. I almost make it into the room until the bitchy nurse catches me.

 

I’m not sure whom she thinks she’s fucking with. I’m a seasoned killer. I’ll do as I please. And right now, nothing would please me more than to protect the nearly lifeless little girl lying in that bed.

 

Dear ole Effie is in fact less useless than I ever imagined. She runs over to distract the bitchy nurse with questions about Katniss so I can slip into the room unnoticed. I never thought I’d be thankful to have that halfwit around. Okay. So Effie has proven herself useful.

 

I pull a chair up near the infirmary bed, still allowing the nurses in the room to work on Katniss. If they notice I’m there they either don’t care or don’t have time for me at the moment. Whatever. At least I can be here to protect her now. Much better than being forced to watch her suffer on a screen where I can’t get to her.

 

Once the blood transfusion is over, the nurses leave the room saying they’ll come back and check on her in a bit. So they did notice I was here. I guess they didn’t mind. It’s all I can do to bite my tongue when I catch myself about to ask when Snow will be in. I’m guessing sometime soon.

 

Katniss looks like the living dead. Her olive skin is entirely too pale from massive blood loss. I guess the mutts bite her more than I realized. It looks like they treated her cracked ribs on the hovercraft and sewed up several of the deeper mutt bites.

 

Somebody undid her braid. She looks more grown up without it. She’s surprisingly clean for someone who just escaped the arena. I guess they cleaned her off while she was out.

 

Watching her breathe is mesmerizing. Each breath she takes is a reminder that she’s alive, that she will wake up. I don’t know how long I’m staring at her before I hear a knock at the door. _That can’t be Snow since his cronies would just barge in like they own the place._

 

I move closer to Katniss, not sure who I expect to open the door but positive that I don’t trust whomever it is, when Effie walks in. Her eyes widen and I watch as her gaze trails down to Katniss, lingering on the spot where my hand lingers. I didn’t realize I had laid my hand on hers until Effie walked in. I just look at her and shrug. It’s not like it’s an intimate gesture. I have no goddamned clue what sort of gesture it is, but it’s not how she’s clearly taking it.

 

Thankfully Effie regains her composure before I say something rude to her. Like I said, I have no patience for that woman today. She clears her throat and looks me directly in the eyes—do I detect a trace of pity?—as she says, “Katniss has a visitor.”

 

Whatever thankfulness I was feeling towards Effie a moment ago has been wiped from my mind. She means Katniss has a visit from President Snow. Keeping my voice as level as possible I regain some of my sardonic charm replying, “Well tell him to come on in. We can have a nice chat while sweetheart here catches up on her beauty sleep.”

 

As I expected Effie is shocked at my callous dismissal of the most important asshole in all of Panem. I’d laugh at the face she’s making if I weren’t scared shitless. I have no fucking clue what Snow has to say to Katniss or what the hell he plans to do to her, all I know is that I don’t want to leave her alone with him.

 

When Snow rounds the corner with two Peacekeepers in tow, I’m surprised when he walks in and pulls a seat up next to me. Ugh. The smell of blood and roses makes my stomach turn. You’d think smelling permanently of vomit and Ripper’s finest would make me immune to foul odors, but nothing compares to the distinct stench that follows Snow around.

 

I realize that I haven’t moved my hand from hers. Maybe I should have when Effie was in here. Fuck it. I’d rather Snow focus on me more than Katniss. I turn my head back around to face her. Maybe he’ll switch gears and attack me instead. Either way, nothing good is going to come from this little meeting he’s having with an unconscious Katniss.

 

To my left I hear a small coughing sound, much too delicate for a monster like Snow. I assumed he was trying to get my attention until I see that he is holding a handkerchief up to his mouth. Good. I hope he’s sick. Better yet, I hope he’s dying.

 

His unnaturally bloodstained fat lips twist into a smile as he glances over to my hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure Mr. Abernathy?”

 

I just glare at him. I’ll say something I regret if I open my mouth.

 

His sickening lips just twist further up his face. “You know it’s against the rules to have relations with tributes. It would be quite the scandal, you know? But who could blame you. She seems to understand that sex is just as useful a tool for survival as a bow is.”

 

I fight everything in my body to remain calm as he says this. I know why he’s doing it. He wants to challenge me, see if I really feel anything towards her. Such a fucking bastard. He’s looking for leverage.

 

I lean back a little, looking him directly in his stone cold eyes. “You know as well as I do _Mr. President_ that if that were the case I’d have already been arrested and that boy wouldn’t have died a virgin.”

 

I pause for a moment, deciding what I’m going to say next, realizing that I don’t quite feel like feigning politeness anymore.

 

“What do you want from her?” I note as the words come out of my mouth that they sound much gruffer, more protective, than I intended.

 

“Well Mr. Abernathy, you’re no fool. You know as well as I do the fate she sealed for herself today with that little song of hers.” I hide the grimace that is sure to come across my face. Prostitution, escorting, whatever you want to call it.

 

I knew once she sang that fucking song he was going to do something horrible to her. To be honest, whatever he was going to do was sure to be atrocious, but once she crossed the line I knew Snow would inflict even more pain upon her.

 

I don’t know what the hell has come over me but I wish I could save her. Chaff is right: Katniss Everdeen is very special. She’s different. She’s the Girl on Fire, or at least she was, but she’s also so much more than that. If anyone deserves to be protected, it’s her.

 

Sobriety is making me fucking emotional.

 

And I guess that’s the only excuse I have for saying what I’m about to say to Snow.

 

“Fuck you.” It comes out low and possessive, yet it’s heard loud and clear throughout the room. Even Snow seems surprised that I dare use such foul language in his presence. I guess he’s too used to everyone kissing his ass.

 

The evil bastard just smiles at me and pulls a small white letter out of his coat pocket that’s been addressed to Katniss. “I trust that you will see that she gets this message.”

 

As he heads to the door he turns his gaze to Katniss, flicking his icy eyes up towards my unyielding glare. “Good to see you Mr. Abernathy. It’s always a pleasure.”

 

He pauses for a second, seemingly debating his next move. I steady my features, refusing to react to a number of horrible things he could potentially say.

 

“Better make her yours before I make her mine.” And with that he’s gone.

 

I can’t even comprehend the anger I feel right now. I want to run out the door and verbally and physically assault him until the Peacekeepers shoot me dead. This is why I don’t get attached. This is why I don’t try. If they die it’s bad, but if they live it’s worse.

 

Fuck the Capitol. Fuck Snow. Fuck everything.

 

I need a fucking drink.

 

Even as I grab my flask out of my pocket I realize there isn’t enough in it to make the fucking pain go away so I throw it across the room and it hits the wall, making quite a splash across the Capitol wallpaper. Yeah. Fuck them.

 

Everything I do is so inconsequential. I can never save the people I love. _What the fuck am I even talking about? I don’t even know this girl!_ Care about. Yeah I can admit that I care about her. And look where that got me. Where it got her.

 

Fuck my shitty pathetic excuse for a life.

 

Fuck her life too while we’re at it. She’ll always be broken. She’ll always blame me for handing her the same life sentence that the Capitol blessed me with.

 

Effie chooses the wrong fucking moment to walk into this room. “Get. The fuck. Out of here.” I say, barely able to conceal the wavering rage seething between each syllable. She immediately shuts the door after that.

 

There are cameras and audio equipment in this room—hell, they’re in more rooms than they are not—so I’m trying my best to appear calm and collected. I can’t afford to let Snow know how much he pissed me off.

 

I can’t afford for him to know how much I _care_ about the girl lying in the infirmary bed. In a last ditch effort to calm myself, I convince myself to grab her hand again. This time I more or less hold it, rubbing soft circles into her dry skin.

 

Time ceases to exist as I let the anger slip away from my body, focusing on this one small action.

 

I’m busy studying her hunting scars, presumably from years of shooting a bow, when a nurse hesitantly walks in. I guess Effie warned her about my outburst earlier. I don’t pay any attention to the nurse. Instead I just stare at Katniss’s hand. The nurse moves around us quietly, checking her vitals, prodding her ribs and legs, and then leaves again.

 

After a minute or two I feel Katniss’s fingers tense against mine. I’m preparing for a violent outburst so I try to move my hand away as quickly as possible so that I can hold her down until the nurses arrive. She grips my hand tightly, like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality. For someone who is supposedly unconscious, she’s fairly strong.

 

My eyes flicker up to her face to see if she’s fully awake. That’s when I notice she’s just opening her eyes, still trying to focus them on something in front of her. I lean forward to brush some of her hair out of her face with my free hand when I realize that she’s staring at me. I try to release my hand from her grasp but she won’t let go.

 

I think about smiling at her but I change her mind. Instead I just say, “Hi sweetheart.” That earns a small smile from her, more than I could have asked for really.

 

She tries to speak but she’s lost her voice. Probably from all that screaming earlier. She still manages to get it out though I can barely hear her. “I’m alive.” She whispers.

 

I allow myself a small smile. She earned it. “Yeah. You are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with Chapter Three, this is wholly unedited material so bear with me as I make smaller corrections throughout the week. If there are any major issues, please message me via PM or leave a comment. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV
> 
> The memory of a patient Mrs. Everdeen had a few years ago plagues Katniss during her drug-induced sleep in the infirmary.

In school we never talked about what happens to people when they die. Obviously we all know how a person dies—starvation, fever…coal mining disaster—but we never once discussed what death meant to the dying.

 

I always thought this was because the teachers in District Twelve were kind enough to spare the population of a false hope. Why make promises of an afterlife filled with happiness and contentment when we cannot say with certainty that such a thing exists?

 

If it did, I don’t think District Twelve would have too many occupants left.

 

And we all know that the Capitol wouldn’t allow for that to happen. So with that, all hope that there may be something better than our current existence is squashed.

 

Living with a healer has taught me that there is no saving the dying, that miracles do not exist, and that you sometimes have to cut your losses. Even if I didn’t learn it from my mother, life in the Seam will teach that to you anyway.

 

I’ll never forget the time a young merchant man carrying a woman, presumably his wife, came barging into our home sometime early in the morning. I’ve never seen a grown man in hysterics the way he was. Tears streaming down his face, body shaking. He was becoming increasingly difficult to understand.

 

His wife looked really pale limply lying in his arms. My mother touched the woman’s body, checked her breathing, and felt for a pulse. Her lips moved into a thin line as they usually did when she had to deliver bad news. She asked the man again what happened.

 

He hastily explained that he wasn’t sure but when he tried to wake her up in the morning he noticed her body felt unnaturally cold. Suddenly he stopped speaking as realization, followed by agony and anguish, crossed his features.

 

My mother waited patiently for a response as the man started crying again. Once he was able to compose himself, perhaps shock had settled in, he told my mom about how his wife had recently been having trouble sleeping, that she used sleep syrup to go to sleep.

 

I missed the rest of the conversation because I immediately headed back to bed with Prim.

 

Sleep syrup, while a fairly common commodity in District Twelve, is still something that not everyone in the Seam can afford. I try to keep my mom well stocked with the stuff so that she can put people to sleep while she works on them, so that they wouldn’t have to be awake to feel excruciating pain.

 

I couldn’t stop myself from being angry with this stupid girl for her blatant disregard of a valuable resource. When I voiced this opinion to my mother later that day she instantly hushed me. I think the only reason I followed her orders was because I was so shocked that she thought she had the ability to wield any type of authority over me.

 

She sat Prim and I down at our kitchen table and explained to us that the man’s wife had purposely taken too much sleep syrup the night before. Prim found this to be extremely disconcerting so I held her hand in attempt to soothe her.

 

My mother explained to us that if there were any people who came in with any variety of self-inflicted injuries we were to turn them away. She rationalized that it was their choice to die and that we were to not waste supplies on people who chose that for themselves. This line of thought disturbed Prim more than me. I can understand the logic of my mother’s explanation.

 

However, I felt that she was being a hypocrite by saying these things since she had practically tried to kill herself after our father died. She wasted away to nothingness and it became my job to take care of our family. And as angry as this conversation made me, for once in my life I agreed with my mother.

 

A slight tickling on my hand brought me out of my reverie. I could vaguely hear voices, possible male. My brain began to feel foggy and I couldn’t hear them anymore. I couldn’t feel the tickling anymore.

 

I’m sitting at our rock, looking into the woods. The fog makes it difficult to see beyond the tree line. Gale emerges soon enough. We start out with our usual pre-hunt banter but I can tell that he notices that something is bothering me.

 

Since we have no secrets and my mom’s most recently deceased patient is on my mind, I decide there isn’t much to lose in talking about it. Besides, it’s been nagging me for the past couple of weeks now.

 

“Do you remember how my mom was when she abandoned Prim and I?” I ask, not daring to look him in the eyes.

 

“Yes. Why? Is she regressing again?” I can hear the suspicion and anger in his voice. Maybe even a bit of concern.

 

Gale has never been able to fully respect my mother because he knows how she just left Prim and I all alone after our father died. I can’t blame him. He watched his own mother pick up the pieces, have a baby, and head right back to work. She set a high standard.

 

“No. No, it’s nothing like that…” I trail off. This conversation is going to be more difficult than I had anticipated.

 

“What’s up, Catnip? I know you wouldn’t bring that up unless something was really bothering you.” I was right. He’s definitely concerned.

 

It takes me a few minutes but I finally figure out what I want to say and how I want to say it. “How do you feel about suicide? Do you think it’s okay that people kill themselves?” I pause a moment before realizing it sounds like I’m suggesting him or I do that so I quickly add, “I’m not thinking of doing it. Just wondering what you think about other people when they, you know, do it.”

 

We sit in silence for a while, making me really regret that I brought this up, before he answers. When he does he stares off into the forest and says, “I’ve thought about this before too. I think what your mom did was wrong. It was selfish. She had you and Prim depending on her and she insulted your father’s memory by letting you two almost starve to death. So in that case, when you have responsibilities and people who will love and miss you, then that decision is a selfish one. But if you were someone who has no responsibilities and no one left to love or no one left to love you, then I think choosing to end it isn’t such a bad idea.”

 

“So you would have to be like Haymitch Abernathy in order to justify killing yourself?” I try to catch his gaze but he continues staring into the forest.

 

“No. He has a responsibility to the kids he mentors in the Games. Though he does such a shitty job he should just do us all a favor and kill himself.” The anger now emanating from is body makes me question my choice in bringing Haymitch into this conversation. Anything about the Games or the Capitol gets Gale too riled up.

 

Unfortunately, I can’t hide the shock on my face that he said something so cruel, which makes him angrier. Great. Now I’ve set him off on a rant against Haymitch Abernathy, the Games, and the Capitol.

 

In between Gale’s rant I hear this weird banging sound, like the sound of a rock hitting a wall. It’s so disorienting I feel like I’m falling out of my dream. Memory? Whatever it is. Then just like that I’ve fallen into a peaceful dark calm.

 

Everything is dark. All I can feel is the tickling on my hand. Well, maybe not exactly tickling but rather heaviness against it? Perhaps this is all an illusion. Is that what death is? Am I dying?

 

_Am I dying?_ I thought I was already dead.

 

My exhausted muscles begin to twitch and I latch onto the heaviness in my hand. I try to wake myself up by squeezing it but the heaviness is trying to move away so I squeeze even tighter. At some point I think I realize that I have a human hand in mine. It would be terrifying if it weren’t for the friendly hand moving across my face. It’s not my mother or Prim. This hand is decidedly not female. The suffocating fear has me opening my eyes as fast as my body permits.

 

Once my eyes are able to focus I let out the breath I had been holding. It’s Haymitch. I’m safe.

 

_I’m alive._

 

“Hi sweetheart.” That’s all he needs to say. I never thought that voice would bring a smile to my face.

 

“I’m alive.” It comes out much raspier that I meant.

 

Then he smiles at me and says, “yeah. You are.”

 

As quickly as the momentary respite came, it was shattered with one thought: Peeta. I quickly shut my eyes, letting the tears run down my face as I turned to cry into my pillow.

 

I didn’t want Haymitch to see me so weak. Even though I guess all of Panem got to see me bawl my eyes out not only once but twice during the Games. It really shouldn’t matter anymore. But it does. I don’t want to feel vulnerable.

 

I didn’t lie there long before I felt the hospital bed shift on my left side and my body being pulled up against another warmer one. Haymitch sat there holding me against his chest, rocking us back and forth for what felt like forever. I wish it could have been forever. I felt safe and loved. That’s all I wanted right now.

 

The next few days passed like this. I’d cry, Haymitch would hold me; we never spoke. I didn’t have to ask why he was there. He understood. And that’s all I really needed.

 

That’s all I really need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took me over a week to update again! I also apologize for this chapter...it's mostly establishing content for later chapters therefore it isn't too terribly interesting (it might have something to do with the fact that I felt very uninspired this week too :( ). Next chapter will be the interview with Caesar Flickerman so that should be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Looking for more? I have posted two of my practice bits in Glimpses of a Tragically Altered Reality. Check it out.


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